Page 29

Rowan settles on his kitchen perch. “You may.”

“First off, is Irish breakfast expensive?”

“Irish breakfast? No, it’s usually a budget-friendly blend of Assam. Why?”

“I need help putting my business things in order. Ash offered to assist me and said I could pay him with a free cup of it every day for a year. Do you think that’s a good deal?”

“A nice Irish breakfast is around fifteen to twenty cents for three grams, which is about what’s used in a standard cup. Multiply that by three hundred sixty-five days, assuming he’s going to show up on your days off, and on the high end, you’re looking at about seventy-five dollars.”

I turn to look at him, box of dry spaghetti in my hand.

“What?” he asks.

“Did you just do all that in your head?”

“It’s basic math.”

“Sure, but…”

“What?”

I shrug. “You’re an owl.”

“I’m amage,” he says, exasperated.

“Seventy-five dollars feels cheap for legal advice,” I say. “Why do you think he’s being so nice?”

“Men lose their heads when pretty girls are interested in them.”

“Oh, Rowan,” I tease him, “you think I’m pretty?”

“As far as I can tell,” he says, looking mildly annoyed. “But what would I know? I’m a bird.”

I laugh. “I’m going to start water, and then I’ll make dinner. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

To keep the conversation going, I ask, “What did you do today?”

“What I do every day—fly around the town, find a nice tree, and sit in it.”

“Every day?” I set the filled kettle on the stove.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. What did you do before?”

“I studied magic and read books.”

“Did you attend a mages college?”

“For four years,” he confirms. “In Albany.”

“What brought you to Moss Hollow?”

“I grew up here.”

I almost ask if he still has family in the area, but I stop myself. If he did, he’d be living with them. They must be gone now. And I don’t want to bring up anything painful.